Redemption
by jadeaguila
Summary: What if Eli D. & Jackie V's deaths were a cover-up? How might Ziva & Eli deal w/the chance to repair their relationship? Some AU/some tie-in to current S10 storyline. Not for those who're glad Eli's gone! :) Forgive me as this is my first fan-fic/share of my writing-I'm nervous & green! Thanks! Disclaimer: All characters & story-lines belong to NCIS.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Just thought I should clarify in case it didn't/doesn't quite make sense: this begins in-between the scene with Ziva mourning over her father and Gibbs standing vigil at the hospital in the episode Shabbat Shalom. Thanks! :)**_

**NCIS Medical Examiner's Van: Near Vances' Residence**

Eli David gasped for air—his oxygen hungry lungs burning with each inspiration.

"Director David, you must slow your breathing if I am to have any success in stopping this bleeding," an irritated voice demanded of him as an oxygen mask was placed firmly into place over his nose and mouth. "Nitroglycerine. Luckily for you, it not only made your pulse difficult to palpitate, but also slowed the rate at which you exsanguinated. That is, until I administered epinephrine to counteract the nitroglycerine. You know, this reminds me of the Greek myth of Dinoysus— about the perils of resurrecting the dead. But how, Director, am I to cheat Death if I cannot ascertain from whence your blood and this syrup originates…"

His own tolerance waning, Eli gave the Brit a hint—pointing feebly to his left shoulder. Besides the incessant suffering wrought of a fragmented heart and a guilty conscience, ailments for which he doubted any mortal man would have a remedy, it was his only physical source of pain.

"A-ha!" the whimsical voice continued as cold metal dug into the flesh of Eli's shoulder, "A knick in this subsidiary of the axillary…"

Eli lost focus, the bespectacled face looming over him blurring into a nauseating sea of colors. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. No relief. His eyelids merely scraped over his corneas like hot sandpaper. And, as tears began to flow from his eyes involuntarily, he found himself wondering which had been more agonizing, holding his breath or maintaining an unblinking stare as his last living child showed him love he did not deserve. The haunting sound of Ziva's voice as she cried, 'Abba', made him shiver.

'_Trust _me. Do _not_ jeopardize the plan', Leon had warned. How? How could he have simply closed his eyes and feigned death? How could he have trusted, without seeing, that Ziva was unscathed? He could not. He had had to know—whatever the risk.

"That will have to do considering these less than ideal conditions," the Brit said, calling him back to the present. "Ah, Palmer, can you at least _try_ to avoid the potholes? Suturing on a living person is a much more refined skill than it is on the deceased."

Eli's vision cleared and he closed his eyes slowly, now keenly aware that NCIS' Medical Examiner, Dr. Mallard, was assessing more than his flesh wound. The expression of any kind of feelings—physical or otherwise—would be out of character; cause for concern. The Director of Mossad did not have the luxury of revealing his feelings…had he not said so himself? Still, he winced as Ziva's anguished face flashed behind his eyelids like the image of something stared at too long.

Ziva would, rightfully so, never forgive him. He had squelched all opportunity for 'redemption'. His sins _were _too great.

Ironic, he thought, that this latest 'sin' was not one he had choreographed himself. No, Leon Vance had directed this OP from the start—intercepting the messages coming out of Tel Aviv, learning a rogue officer within Eli's own agency was bent on pushing Israel to the brink of war, ascertaining that Eli himself was a pawn in this selfish ploy for power. Yes, Leon Vance, the plucky young agent he'd once saved from certain death was now calling the shots. Eli was now the teacher learning from the student.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Meanwhile**

As the doors to the ambulance banged shut, Jackie Vance sat up on the gurney, pushed away the oxygen mask, and reached for her head—fingernails digging into the rubbery material at the base of her skull—red corn syrup dripping down her arm.

"You alright? No pain anywhere?" Leon Vance asked, his expression one of genuine concern.

"That was your _plan_, Leon?" Jackie growled, ignoring his question; ire masking fear. "Shoot-up the house? I am _not_ alright with this. If we'd made one false move we'd be _dead!"_

"Get changed," Leon commanded, as he handed her a package of cleansing wipes. She scoffed; how quickly his display of concern was replaced with business—Director of NCIS business.

Angrily, she scrubbed the corn syrup from her head and torso. Then, out of spite, she tore off her soiled shirt and pants and threw them at Leon before pulling on the long skirt and fitted blouse offered by the petite female paramedic. "Now what?" she snapped.

Leon smiled at his wife's fierce resolve to break him. She would endure. She would weather the storm he had cast her into. Relieved, he pulled out his burn phone and dialed Dr. Mallard's, "Status?"

"Ah, Aslan," the Doctor replied, "Yes, well, as expected, Zeus gave the order to…expedite…things to avoid a meltdown in Mideast relations. But, it is not what went to according to plan that concerns me. You see, I was not told to expect Payton's daughter…"

"Short version on Payton only," Leon interrupted.

Dr. Mallard gave a noticeably vexed sigh, "Yes, well, uh, there we've also had a small deviation from the plan. You see, Payton was injured. Small knick to the subsidiary of the axillary artery in his shoulder."

"Damnit," Leon spat into the phone, "Get him back into the game. See you in ten."

"Malachi?" he queried of the paramedic at the wheel.

The man gave him a curt nod in the review mirror and made a hard left into traffic, cutting the sirens.

"Something is wrong with Director David?" the female paramedic queried.

"Yeah," Leon grimaced. "Old man doesn't like to play be the rules. Got himself shot in the shoulder."

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**Several minutes later: Deserted Underpass**

Eli grimaced and tensed instinctively as the medical examiner's van bumped to a stop and someone banged on the back doors. "Just my fate…being delivered alive from the carriage of the dead," he muttered to himself in Hebrew. "I am too old for this."

"Allow me to borrow from the works of Henry Thoreau in making a parting observation, Director David," Dr. Mallard spoke into his ear as the doors opened to reveal Mossad Officer Malachi Ben Gideon and NCIS Director, Leon Vance. "'It is what a man thinks of _himself _that determines his fate.'"

Ducky smiled at Eli's look of surprise.

"Clock is ticking and you're late," Leon Vance interjected. "But, I guess I should have known. It's just like you, Eli, to throw a curveball when we planned for a fastball."

"You hired a bad shot, Leon," Eli countered in a tired voice as he rose warily from his seat on the gurney, "According to your Dr. Mallard, your shooter missed putting me out of my misery by centimeters."

"Not one to take the blame, are you Eli?" Vance said with a grin, before turning away and giving Eli just long enough to catch Ducky's eye and dip his head in a silent thanks.

"Dr. Mal-lard", Malachi said with a curt nod as he stepped forward. He was concerned for Eli David, but knew better than to say so. Though Eli made a point of saying he was "ok", he leaned heavily on him as he negotiated the step down from the van. Eli's face was pale, his glasses slightly off kilter, his left arm cradled in a sling, and his gait somewhat unsteady. The man looked as though he had aged several years in the past hours.

Eli glanced sideways at Malachi and laughed softly before drawing himself up to his full height and effectively transforming his face into an unreadable mask. He focused on evening his gait, and as they walked up to the waiting getaway car, he said in Hebrew, "Some advice, Malachi. When you or this job gets old, quit."

Malachi shook his head; the old man was unflappable. Eli even managed to look surprisingly American in blue jeans, a hooded sweater, and a baseball cap. It took a strong man to pull off a farce like this.

Removing a handgun from his belt and releasing the safety, Malachi handed it to the older man.

"To da." Eli smiled as he tucked it in his right jacket pocket and turned to face the waiting NCIS director, "I hope you know what you are doing, Leon."

"Get in," Leon said curtly as he opened the passenger door. Then, leaning in, he gave Eli a message meant for Eli's ears alone. "Keep her safe, Eli."

_Keep her safe_, Leon repeated to himself, _because I will never forgive myself if things go otherwise._

Eli nodded curtly and dropped heavily into the passenger seat, mind focused on the throbbing pain in his head and shoulder. "Let's get this underway," he grumbled in Hebrew as Vance banged his hand against the top of the car signaling an all clear.

"English, Eli. I didn't get a chance to brush up on my Hebrew," Jackie Vance said icily from the driver's seat. Noting his confusion, she added, "Leon's orders. Less people who know where we're going, less chances of being found."

Returning Eli's appalled gaze in the review mirror, Liat Tuvia and Malachi shrugged apologetically from the back seat—not willing to accept the blame for following Leon's orders instead of his.

"Humph. You are a lucky woman, Jackie. Three Mossad tasked with protecting you. In Israel, you would be considered a liability. Your husband is a smart man."

"From what I hear, Eli, that number is closer to two. You're more of a concern than me."

Liat and Malachi thought better than to intercede and feigned attention on the cars behind theirs.

"Huh," Eli breathed before turning to look in the side view mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

_**(My apologies to those on the East Coast if the location for the safe house seems unfeasible...I confess to picking a random location several hours from D.C. :) )**_

**En Route to Safe House**

Over two hours had passed in silence with only the occasional conversation in Hebrew between Liat and Malachi. Jackie was not a fan of the silent treatment and was growing restless and uncomfortable as she sped down I66. It was beginning to make sense why Ziva had so easily stormed out on dinner with Eli. His tactics in dealing with interpersonal conflict were insufferable.

She shot a glance at him as she neared the turn off to Grayson. He blinked slowly and then again, his head bobbing slightly as might that of one who is fighting off unwelcome sleep. In the dim light of the off-ramp sign, she glimpsed the flicker of a grimace as it moved across his tired face. Their eyes met, briefly, and she turned her attention back to the road ahead—embarrassed by her quickness to judge. Next to her, Eli inhaled sharply, straightening himself in his seat.

"When we arrive at the safe house, Malachi will leave the car first and secure the perimeter," Liat announced in English from the back seat.

"You know this house well?" Eli asked of Jackie as he pulled the handgun from his pocket and rested it on his knee.

"I lived in it with my father…forty years ago."

"Good, then you will know its strengths and its weaknesses. A child has an eye for such things—the best and the worst places to hide."

She looked at him, incredulous—who was talking, him or Leon. Those were forty years she had worked hard to put behind her. Just as she had told Leon, she doubted the place would bear any resemblance to what it did then. It was a vacation home now…a getaway in the middle of nowhere for those trying to escape the rigors of their busy lives.

Her grandmother had inherited the small two-bedroom farmhouse and its adjoining acres of overgrown farmland from her widowed and childless employer of 30 years, Doctor Weatherford. Overnight, Jackie, her father, and her grandmother went from living in the projects to living amongst the middle-class. Jackie remembered being thrilled—feeling like a princess as she flitted up the white porch steps into the humble foyer and on to a seat at the lackluster dining room table. She remembered the sweet smell of buttered biscuits and tea waiting for her when she came home from school. And, she also remembered countless nights spent hidden away in the small recess behind the living room couch while her grandmother and father argued over her father's incessant drinking and inability to hold down a job.

Pulling to a stop in the driveway, Jackie closed her eyes and took a moment to push the past out of her mind. When she opened them, Malachi was already out of the car and conferring with Liat in Hebrew. As Liat prepared to follow Malachi, Jackie moved to get out herself, but Eli stopped her.

"It is…charming," he said, nodding towards the house, "But wait here. I do not trust American safe houses. The last one I stayed in blew up when we closed the door…"

_So, Malachi and Liat are the expendables_, she thought. _Send them in first and, if they come out unscathed, then maybe you'll follow-such disregard for human life. I wonder if that's how you walked out of the last one while my husband nearly ended up in the morgue._

Eli surprised her. Slowly, almost gingerly, he opened the car door and stood up—gun in hand. He circled around the front of the car, motioned Liat to stay put, and crossed the old stones to the base of the porch; gun trained on the house's red front door. Malachi ascended the porch steps, reached forward, unlocked the door, and tossed something in before slamming the door shut and jumping backwards off the porch. Nothing happened.

The three Israelis exchanged words and Liat frowned angrily, clearly dissatisfied with her role in the plan. Malachi reopened the door and went in, Eli close behind him. Liat, meanwhile, waited next to the car eyes scanning the road and empty fields behind the house. Nearly ten minutes passed before Malachi re-emerged and waved Jackie and Liat inside.

Warily, Jackie followed Liat up the familiar porch steps—stepping over the creaky third step-and into the forayer. Odd, how it seemed so much more luxurious and befitting of a princess now, than it had then. Children see so much in so little. Gone were the drab yellow drapes left behind by her grandmother's employer, the broken entry way table upon which her father always left his keys, and the ratty old couch he'd fallen asleep drunk on countless nights. She had been right; this house was only the shell of a faraway past.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hours Later: Tony Dinozzo's Apartment**

Nearly 400 miles away, Tony Dinozzo tossed a baseball up and down absent-mindedly. It had been way too easy finding Schmeil. Was it impeccable timing or prudent planning being in New York the week Eli David showed up unannounced, on a mission of "Peace", and got himself killed? Whatever the case, he knew only Schmeil could both soothe Ziva's heart and smuggle a very important dead Israeli out of the US without inciting war…which, is also what worried him. His thoughts were interrupted by Ziva's muffled moans in the neighboring bedroom. Solving this riddle would have to wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**(Sorry about the Hebrew, please correct if it is incorrect! :D)**

**Hours Later: Safe House, Grayson, VA**

Eli cursed—first in Hebrew and, then in English for good measure. 'Change the dressing when it is soiled', he said to his mirror-reflection with a mock British accent. 'Keep your left arm immobilized at the shoulder for at least 72 hours'. _Does Dr. Mallard think I am Houdini?_

He bit angrily into the medical tape dispenser and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as the thin plastic cracked under pressure. Ripping a piece of tape off with his right hand, he stuck it to the side of the bathroom sink. Then, taking a new bandage from his apparently useless left hand, he pressed it firmly against the oozing entry wound in his left shoulder. _Brilliant! Now what?_ He paused, allowing himself a moment to ponder his next move—thinking: _Maybe I am just tired. This is not such a big deal. I have gotten myself out of worse situations._

He looked up and chuckled as he made eye contact with himself in the mirror-noting the dark circles under his eyes, the growing population of wrinkles and scars, the unruly white hair, and the extra weight put on after too much time spent sitting at a desk exercising only his mouth. _Of course, I was in much better shape then…figuratively and literally._

He tried bending his chin down to hold the bandage and free his right hand for the task of tape application which resulted, instead, in an agonizing neck cramp. "UGH!" he groaned kicking the vanity in frustration, "Ze haya ma' se m'tumtam b'met, Alter Kocker! (That was a really stupid move, Old Fart!)"

In the neighboring room, Jackie frowned. Judging by the sound of his footsteps heading towards the forayer, Malachi—who had volunteered for the first shift guarding their makeshift safe house—was no longer within ear-shot of his boss. She looked at the clock. It was late, well after 3 AM, but Eli David had waited patiently while she showered in the house's one bathroom; saying he would likely be awhile one-handed. And, though she was not fond of the man whose visits coincided with nothing but peril for her family, she felt somewhat guilty for spending so long trying to scrub away the stress of the night—the worry for the children she'd left behind. She had seen Eli try to hide his fatigue as he retreated to wait in what had been her father's room; but, thanks to her husband, she was well read in the subtle body language of men in his position. She turned towards where Liat lay in the bed next to hers—her grandmother's.

Liat groaned and got up, "He is like his daughter…dramatic."

Jackie listened as Liat rapped twice quickly on the bathroom door, "Ptakh et hadlet! (Open the door!)"

"Azov oti be-sheket!" (Leave me alone!), Eli hissed in reply.

"You need help! You cannot do this yourself, open up!" (In Hebrew)

"I am fine! Azov oti be-sheket! Go back to sleep!" Eli growled, exasperated with Liat's persistence.

At the sound of something clattering to the bathroom floor, Jackie could bear no more and got up. Liat turned to face her and shrugged, throwing her hands in the air. Jackie sighed at the young woman's lack of resolve. Liat may be afraid of Eli David, but fear was not one of the feelings Jackie harbored towards the man. She would deal with him just as she dealt with her husband—firmly. With one move, Jackie pushed past Liat, and barked, "Eli, it's Jackie. Open the damn door!"

There was a noticeable pause in activity on the other side of the door followed by a rustling of garments thrown hastily over their wearer. Jackie could sense Eli's embarrassment as the door opened slightly to reveal his haggard face. Liat gave an audible hiss of surprise—clearly unaccustomed to seeing her boss take orders.

"I…" Liat and Eli began simultaneously—the former obviously seeking to absolve herself of responsibility for Jackie's behavior; the latter noticeably red in the face.

Jackie took note of the broken tape dispenser in the sink and the unbuttoned shirt Eli was holding shut across his chest with his right hand. "You," she interrupted as she took a step towards Eli, "are not Houdini. But, thanks to your previous visit,_ I've_ had to learn a few tricks when it comes to dressing changes. Now, turn around and sit down."

Eli opened his mouth—a protest on his lips, but Jackie pressed on—extreme fatigue squashing any sense of respect. "This isn't about you, Eli. It's about me wanting to get some rest in this Hell Hole. Now, _sit_ your ass down."

Himself sapped of energy, Eli complied—sinking slowly onto the toilet seat.

Liat, genuinely concerned at Eli's lack of tit for tat –at his subordination-asked, "Are you alright, Director?"

Eli looked down at his feet and chortled softly before responding, "I have been better."

_You are lucky to be alive, _Liat thought as Jackie removed the soiled bandage from the exit wound in Eli's back. It was red and oozing, located just between the ribs under his shoulder blade—dangerously close to his heart. She looked away, unable to stomach the reminder of how she lost her father long ago…

As she cleansed the wound, Jackie inhaled slowly, herself attempting to ignore unwanted memories of Leon's brush with death at Eli's last visit. Her efforts failed and she felt a surge of anger as she thought about how that visit had stripped her family of its innocence. A brief, "Tsss," escaped Eli and he flinched—drawing her attention to the excessive force with which she was applying the new pressure bandage. He looked up at her briefly—his brown eyes questioning where she imagined they would be displeased. "Sorry," she whispered, nearly inaudibly, as she gently replaced his shirt over his shoulder.

Fleetingly, Eli patted her hand. "Thank you, Jackie. I can manage from here."

His words, though genuine, were firm—authoritative. Liat jerked her head in the direction of their bedroom. Jackie put down the sling she had taken from the sink top. "Lilah tov, Director," Liat said as she led Jackie back to bed.

"Good night, Liat…Jackie," Eli said nodding after them. He waited for their footsteps to fade and their beds to creak under their weight before he called on every ounce of energy he had left to get himself on his feet and make his way to his own bed. As he shuffled slowly down the hall, using his right hand and the wall to steady himself, he let go of his pride—fully aware that Malachi stood vigil in the shadows behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**0700 the next day, NCIS, Navy Yard**

Jethro Gibbs frowned as he exited Leon Vance's office. Though he'd just informed the SecNav and Secretary of State that Ilan Bodnar was responsible for Jackie, Eli, and, likely, Kazmi's deaths, his gut told him Bodnar was only a piece of the puzzle.

How had Ilan Bodnar's assassin for hire known Eli David would be dining with the Vance's? Obviously, Eli had mentioned something to someone before leaving Israel or the suspicion about his plans to meet with Ziva wouldn't have been so accurate. Still, Eli wasn't dumb to the fact he had enemies who would go to great lengths to kill him or there wouldn't be a dead reporter in Ducky's Pond. It was possible Eli had missed something or someone—god knew the man had been all too confident in his ability to elude threats. But, that didn't explain why the assassin said to Ziva, 'I did not expect you to come after me rather than checking on your father.'

How did the Assassin know Ziva would be outside the house at the time of the shooting? Who gave him the order to spare Ziva while treating Leon and Jackie Vance as collateral damage? Bodnar may have loved Ziva at some point in his life, but he wouldn't have gambled his rise to the top on someone as dangerous as Ziva David…unless, he was taking orders from someone else.

Did Eli David plan his own death—as a martyr? Maybe, but Bodnar didn't strike Gibbs as the type of protégé who was willing to be a fall guy for his mentor. No, Bodnar had been hungry for Eli's seat—even playing Ziva for support—right up until NCIS informed his government that he'd paid off Eli's assassin from a private account aptly named "Virtue". Then, he'd fled like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Gibbs sighed, he had a sinking feeling that someone closer than he'd like knew more than they were saying. The question was, who?


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 2: Safe House, Grayson, VA**

_Sleep must be one of the luxuries denied those condemned to Sheol_, Eli thought. He looked at his watch. It read 2AM. He bunched up his pillow under his neck—attempting to take some pressure off of his right shoulder. In minutes the fingers of his right hand began to tingle, their circulation poor under the weight of his body. His wounds made it nearly impossible to get comfortable in any position.

_Ignore the pain. Make your mind blank. Rest, _he coached himself. _Bah!_

He sat up—giving himself a headache in the process. Perhaps, a change of venue would help. He wandered into the kitchen where he served himself and Malachi some leftovers from the dinner Jackie had prepared before settling himself on the living room couch. Malachi joined him and the two ate in silence for a time—Eli unwilling to admit he was grateful for the company.

When they had finished, Malachi took their plates and returned to his night patrol, leaving Eli to his thoughts. Eli's mind wandered back to a conversation he'd had with Leon Vance years ago about his hopes for his grandchildren and, though he had not said it directly, for himself_. I may not die happy and surrounded by my family_, he thought as he washed his late night snack down with a cup of tea, _but at least I will die old and fat_.

Thinking of Leon, he wondered how the man was holding up. Now a father and a husband, Leon was saddled with burdens Eli found all too familiar. Faced with a choice between defending the interests of his country and those of his family, Leon had chosen to attempt both. A choice Eli had tried to convince him was dangerous—one false move and Leon could lose one, if not both of the things he was fighting so hard to protect. Eli had learned this the hard way. But, Leon, like himself, was stubborn and steadfast in his convictions. Perhaps, even more so considering the ultimatum he'd given Eli. 'Play by my rules and I'll do everything in my power to keep you and your daughter out of harm's way. Handle this on your own and you'll end up disgraced, or dead, with Ziva as collateral damage.'

Eli exhaled slowly. He was not one to take threats but, already in a precarious position at the end of his career, he hadn't seen much choice. Ilan Bodnar was not a fool and Eli was not sure he could outsmart the man he'd groomed to be his successor. _Trust_, he thought_, is a many edged sword…share it with too many people and you will get yourself cut_. By trusting Ilan he'd cut and tied his own hands. Ilan knew him too well—knew who else he trusted, what moves he would make…his weaknesses.

Leon was right, if they were going to best Ilan, they would need to convince him that he had the upper hand. To do this, Eli would have to play a role with which he was unfamiliar—the role of a naïve, unsuspecting, pawn in someone else's game. Fortunately, a lifetime of playing charades had left Eli a man capable of assuming many faces.

Still, he had balked at Leon's plan. It was dangerous bordering on suicidal. 'Crazy' did not quite define the risky gamble of intercepting and paying the assassin to become a martyr rather than a murderer. But, it worked. All the Swede had wanted was the money—he didn't care about the job.

The reporter and Kazmi, on the other hand, were not a part of the plan. Leon had not counted on Bodnar hiring an American whistle blower to track Eli and, Eli had not intended to kill anyone—except Bodnar if he got his hands on him. But, the reporter had resisted Eli's request that he turn over his camera and Eli had narrowly missed earning a black eye before dealing the man a blow to the abdomen; a blow which, though intended only to drop the man to his knees, proved fatal.

He had known Ziva would not accept, 'the truth has many faces', as explanation for his actions. Nonetheless, what else could he have said? Anymore and she would have complicated the plan—tried to intervene. He could live with her hatred, but not with her death. He could hardly accept Kazmi's.

Leon had underestimated Bodnar. Leon had thought playing along with Bodnar's plan to frame Kazmi for Eli's death would put Bodnar in the open; make Bodnar overconfident; cause Bodnar to make a mistake; prove that Kazmi was, as Eli, a victim. But, Bodnar had been one step ahead and Kazmi, _the old bastard_, had been a fool not to take the American's offer of an escort to the airport.

A creaking of floorboards followed by two distinct clicks made Eli's eyes fly open. In the dim moonlight cast through the partially open window, he could scarcely make out two shadows—one masculine and one feminine standing at opposing corners of the room.

"Mrs. Vance, please, lower your weapon. There is no one here but me and Director David," came Malachi's smooth and even tone.

Slowly, cautiously, Eli reached for his gun and found himself inhibited by some sort of fabric. He fumbled against it briefly before realizing it was a blanket—he had fallen asleep on the couch. _Idiot!_

"Don't move!" Jackie stopped him with a menacing whisper.

"_What_ is going on?" Eli queried.

"There's someone out there," Jackie insisted—gesturing toward the window with her gun.

Silence. Malachi inched closer to where Eli remained on the couch—gaining a clearer vantage point. At the sound of scratching outside, all three raised their guns.

Malachi laughed. The noises were clearly not made by a human…unless he or she was under fifty pounds and scuttling along the ground. He lowered his gun and turned on the porch light to reveal two beady yellow eyes frozen in place. "It is an American wild dog."

"A fox," Eli corrected him, having somehow managed to move himself unnoticed from the couch to Malachi's shoulder in the span of time it took to flip the light switch.

Malachi shook his head as the animal turned and ran—not foolish enough to miss an opportunity to escape with its life.

Jackie, gun still trained at the window, began to tremble, minutely at first—starting in her trigger finger. She laughed despondently, "A fox. It was a fox...I was all up in arms over a fox!"

Her transition from despondency to sobered seriousness was instant, "I should be home…taking care of my children. Not here shooting at foxes in the night. "

Malachi shot an apologetic glance at Eli before turning off the porch light and moving away down the hall—towards where he knew Liat waited in the shadows. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Eli in the cross hairs of Jackie's melt-down, but he knew neither he nor Liat were equipped to deal with this sort of crisis.

Eli hesitated. To subdue a mother bear was dangerous; to subdue the emotionally unstable wife of an intelligence agent even more so. Slowly, gently, he reached out his right hand, palm up, and placed it underneath Jackie's gun hand. She was shaking violently, but patience was paramount. So, he waited until he felt the weight of the gun transfer into his hand and, then, he took it quickly—releasing the clip and placing the empty gun on a nearby table. Then, he turned Jackie away from the window and braced himself for the apex of her emotion—rage, loss of control.

He did not expect her to let her body fall limply into his and, momentarily, he was at a loss for how to respond. She sobbed silently, her shuttering breaths causing Eli himself to inhale sharply. Slowly, awkwardly, he lifted his right arm and pulled her head to rest against his right shoulder. He blinked, Jackie's face suddenly replaced by the tortured face of his late wife, Rivika, after the death of his youngest daughter, Tali. For several minutes, he held Jackie—her tears wetting his shirt.

"It will be ok. Leon will put an end to this. You will go home to your family."

Jackie pushed her head back and looked up at Eli, black eyes flashing. "It will _not _be ok, Eli! You're just like him. You don't understand! My children will _not_ be ok. I promised them after the bombing that I would keep them safe. That no matter what happened with their father, _we _would survive. _I_ would take care of them! Now, I've abandoned them in their hour of greatest need. I've turned and ran—leaving them in the care of someone who has a target on his back! You expect me to waltz back into their lives like nothing's happened?! How will they ever trust me again?"

Eli sighed. "I do not understand? Jackie, I looked my daughter in the eye and told her I was here for her. I asked for her trust in a _lie_. I offered her an olive branch and, instead of peace, I brought war to her feet. _I _put her in the way of harm. For this, I do not expect her to forgive me."

Jackie shook her head, her sobs now audible. She mumbled, "They'll never forgive me…'

Carefully, Eli wiped away her tears as he had done Rivika's. His voice softened and his eyes watered with tears he would not allow himself to shed, "No. It is not so for you, Jackie. Your children have never had any reason to distrust you. What you have done, you did for them—to keep them from harm. With time, they will learn to forgive…to understand."

"Come. Sit," he said, gesturing to the couch where he had made his makeshift bed.

Obediently, Jackie sank into the sofa. She had no fight left in her. One handed and with some effort Eli picked up his discarded blanket and draped it over her shoulders.

"Sleep or, at least, close your eyes and rest," he said with a small sigh as he eased his aching body into the nearby armchair. "There is no point in both of us languishing the night away."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Day 2: Outskirts of Tel Aviv**

Warm desert air caressed Ziva's face and arms, relaxing her; easing, if only briefly, the overwhelming feelings of anger, hatred and loss that threatened to consume her. She looked up from her work, hands covered in golden desert sand, and smiled at the two fully-grown olive trees that cast a gentle shadow over her. "Aht lo le vahd, Tali and Ima."

Gently, lovingly, she reached out to the third—a fledgling tree barely settled in the dirt-and rubbed its deep green leaves between her fingers. _Ah-tah lo le vahd…Abba._


	7. Chapter 7

**8 Weeks Post Exfiltration: Safe House**

Sounds of anguish startled Jackie awake. She had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, book still open on her chest. The sounds were in the room…like someone thrashing. She turned her head slightly in the direction of the sound and, in the dim orange glow of the last remaining embers, recognized a dark shape lying awkwardly on the couch. She picked up the flashlight on the table in front of her and directed its light towards the couch.

Eli David grimaced and shielded his eyes from the light, papers falling from his lap to the floor. His cheeks were wet, beads of sweat on his forehead. The room was empty besides the two of them.

"Eli? Are you ok?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

He stared at her briefly, disoriented. Then, almost inaudibly, he said, "It is nothing. A dream. I am fine."

"It's nothing?" Jackie said in disbelief. "It certainly doesn't look that way."

"It is not of your concern!" Eli shot back angrily—defensively.

Jackie kept her flashlight trained on him, noted the silent tears on his cheeks and the pain in his expression. His angry words did not match.

Eli stood up, made a show of loading his gun, and said flatly, "I'm going for a walk."

A door slammed and Jackie listened as Eli's heavy footsteps crunched in the gravel outside. He was circling the house like a caged animal. Eventually, he would give up and break. She got up and made two cups of tea. She would wait.

Muffled, but terse, words exchanged in Hebrew preceded a second door slam and Eli heaving himself into the living room recliner. Jackie waited patiently—giving him time to settle—to compose himself. Then, she entered, bearing the tea as a peace offering.

Eli looked up briefly, a momentary expression of gratitude quickly replaced by an expressionless mask.

"We've been stuck in this hell hole for two months, Eli. You're getting under my skin. I'm getting under yours. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Without acknowledging her, staring straight ahead as if talking to someone unseen, Eli exposed his carefully guarded heart. "Tali, my youngest, was turning sixteen. She never asked for much, but she begged me to buy her tickets to an opera. She loved to sing...told me her mother could not afford such a thing…told me I had to promise her I would come. I relented. She was the child with heart…kind, compassionate…innocent. I could not say no. But, when the day came, I was called into the office—rise in suicide bombings. She called me from the opera, asked me where I was-reminded me I had made promise. I…I told her I was sorry…Used the same old lie—'I will make it up to you'. I could feel her disappointment though I could not see her face. She told me to forget about it, but not before driving a knife into my heart, 'I want to hate you for your empty promises. But, I can't. I still love you Abba-leh.'"

A shadow fell across Eli's face, remorse, regret…heartache?

Somberly, he continued. "An hour passed, maybe two…I don't know. I was trying to lose myself in my work. Then I heard the shouts. My door flew open and…Ziva. I do not know how she got in—she was young, a probational officer. She was not yet in a position of authority. But, there she was standing in the doorway, eyes full of fire. 'She is dead,' she said. I knew what she meant without asking, but I did not want to believe her."

Jackie searched Eli's face for any sign of emotion and, to her surprise, Eli met her gaze briefly before looking away. His eyes were wet. How many times had Eli shared this story—bared his soul? She guessed few, if any. Eli David was not a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. No, he kept it hidden behind layers of defenses—shielding it from those who might turn it against him, from himself, from ghosts of the past.

Eli smiled sadly as he stared into the empty space behind them. This story was not for her, it was for him. He needed this. He needed to find in himself a reason to forgive his sins. So, he pressed on, "Hadar pushed his way in behind her, pride broken, hand covering a broken nose. His expression told me all I needed to know. 'There was a car bomb,' Hadar began, but Ziva would not let him finish. 'Hamas is to blame,' she growled. 'I will not rest until I have taken from them what they took from me.' I could see she was hungry for revenge. This was dangerous. So, I told her, 'You are not thinking rationally. You are in mourning. I will handle this'. I did not want to lose her too."

A single tear escaped his well-trained self-defenses. Jackie averted her gaze, allowing him a private moment—recognizing that beneath the hardened exterior, the layers of complexity, there was a broken man—a man, who had buried a child long before their time. A man who had been in a position of great power and learned the hard way that power is not only strength, but also weakness.

"But, she was not hearing me. She demanded, 'No, you will go to her like you should have earlier tonight. You will bury your daughter. You will at _least_ show her this final respect.' I could say nothing. I was lost. I was a father trying to fathom how he had out-lived his child. I knew Ziva would act regardless of my wishes. So, I just let her go. I told Hadar to make sure she completed her quest and I went to bring home the body of my little girl. I buried Tali and, I buried my heart. I promised Tali that her sister would outlive me. I promised that I would mold Ziva into someone that could withstand the iniquities of a father, the peril of a country always on the verge of war, the dangers of a broken heart...Ziva does not know this, but after Somalia I realized I was powerless to keep my promise to Tali. I let Ziva think I did not care because I wanted her to believe she was better off in America—at NCIS—with people who had shown her the meaning of trust, love, security. My sins _are_ too great."


	8. Chapter 8

**Week 9: Bull Pen, NCIS**

Angst did not accurately describe the feeling Ziva had as she opened the file containing images of a man believed to be Ilan Bodnar. Her hand closed around the mouse with such intensity the device seemed to squirm in duress against her palm. Images of the multiple ways she would like to torture Bodnar flooded her conscience. She would not allow him to simply slip through her hands.

The sound of footsteps approaching startled her out of her reverie—reminding her that vengeance was not something sanctioned by her employer. She suppressed the feeling of rage that surfaced in her as Bodnar disappeared from her screen. He was so close, yet out of reach.

"Starting your day early, Agent David?" Leon Vance asked, pausing in front of her desk.

As she considered how to express the manner in which their mutual losses had 'forged' them together, she could not help but think that it may also be what would drive them apart. They were both dangerously desperate for the same thing—revenge.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

**Week 9: Safe House**

Liat scowled as she watched Eli's fingers move nimbly up and down the long neck of his recently purchased guitar. Though the music was meant to be soothing, she could feel her frustration growing with each crescendo. At Malachi's appearance with four cups of tea, she could bear no more. She slammed her tablet down on the patio table—causing tea to slosh onto the ground and Eli to miss a chord. Jackie Vance looked up from her book, worry in her eyes.

A twinge of satisfaction played across Liat's lips, she had their attentions. "Die, maspeek!" (Stop! I have had enough!)

"Tasbiri," (explain yourself) Eli said as he put down the guitar and regarded her with a bemused expression.

"It has been two months. And, yet, here we sit…pretending to lead normal lives…doing nothing! We are Mossad! We do not run and bury our heads in the sand while others do our bidding. We stand and fight!" She bellowed in Hebrew—consciously omitting Jackie from their conversation.

"Liat," Malachi cautioned.

"Shut-up," she continued, ignoring his warning. Then, turning to Eli, eyes narrowed she asked, "Tell me, Director. What _is _it we are doing here? How is it _you_, of all people, acquiesce to the rules of engagement laid out by an American!?"

Eli's eyes narrowed. His features hardened and he thundered in Hebrew, "You do not speak to me this way, Liat! My _reasoning_ is not of your concern; your concern is _following _my orders!"

"Is it? Last I heard Orli Ezbar has filled your seat. I no longer answer to you. Perhaps, Bodnar was right about one thing…you have become soft. This is no longer about avoiding war or protecting Israel! Our government has condemned Bodnar to death should he be found. This…is about something personal. _You_ have allowed your _feelings_ to..."

Eli's face reddened and he rose out of his chair causing Liat to recoil slightly.

"Genug (Enough)! Sit!" Malachi interceded, taking them by surprise. "Liat, you are right. Eli David is no longer our Director; however, neither are you his. _I_ am the senior field officer! You _both_ answer to me!"

He turned to Eli and said in a calm, measured tone, "Tasbiri, Eli. I am curious as well."

A heavy sigh escaped Eli as he nodded his assent to Malachi. He hesitated before he began—weighing his words. Perhaps, he should respect Liat and Malachi's assertion that he was, technically, no longer their Director. If so, there was no longer any reason for him to treat them as though he were such. No longer was he justified to speak to them in half-truths. Look where that had gotten him with Ziva. No, he thought as he met Jackie's bewildered gaze, he was done with that life. He would be completely honest—even if it revealed his weakness.

"Why are we here?" he began in English—knowing Jackie Vance also harbored questions. "We are here because we were either witnesses to or targets of terrorism. We are here because Ilan Bodnar is not going to rest until he has put all who interfered in his plan in their graves. We have seen how he killed Kazmi. He is not afraid to incite war. He was trained by Mossad…by…me. He will not quit until his mission is complete. He made a mistake once, with his payment of the assassin, but he will not make the same mistake twice. If we are to catch him, we must make him, and those who are loyal to him, think he has won. This is why we are here."

Liat shook her head. This made no sense. He was withholding something. Eli was not a coward; he did not hide from his enemies. She would call his bluff. "This is a fool's plan. Why not stand up and face Bodnar—laugh at his failure? What is the point in hiding? Why not allow us to return to Mossad? Why keep us here on a cover assignment when you could reassign us to bring about his capture?"

Eli smiled but Malachi saw in his eyes an uncharacteristic expression—of sadness.

"Ah, Liat," Eli replied. "Always in search of more than what you are given. Leon Vance is not a fool. He knows we cannot stand up and face someone whose face we do not know. Though our governments do not want to admit this, the truth is we do not know who is loyal to Bodnar and who is not. We do not know who or what we are fighting. If we stand up and make ourselves targets, we invite him to make another move. I, for one, am not willing to start a war."

He frowned, meeting Jackie's questioning eyes, swallowing the anger he felt towards Leon for taking advantage of whatever loyalty his daughter had left, "Why did I not order you to return to Mossad, to reassign? Because Vance has already tasked Ziva with the job. He is convinced she will find Bodnar without his asking."

He paused, looking away. Then, his voice subdued—tinged with regret, he continued in Hebrew, "Because Bodnar knows you are loyal to me. …Because, I am tired of sitting Shiv…

Malachi interrupted—sparing Eli the humiliation of revealing his weakness, "Because," he said quietly in Hebrew, "We are the stray ends, Liat."

Liat fought against it but failed to stop her cheeks from flushing. She looked down, then out at the open fields glittering a golden yellow in the rising morning sun. She was ashamed. She was…grateful.


	9. Chapter 9

**Week 13: Bull Pen, NCIS**

"Uh, guys, you need to see this," whispered McGee from his desk…looking around nervously as if being watched.

"What's wrong, McGoo?" Tony quipped, "Find pictures of Gibbs on his…"

"Not likely," Gibbs interrupted, coming around the corner, "What've you got, McGee?"

McGee looked up, clearly disturbed, "Uh, well, uh, I was following up on Tony's—sorry Ziva—observation that Schmeil had impeccable timing in being here the week Director David was killed. And, I just went back over everything we had to see if maybe Bodnar had leaked something somewhere that Schmeil picked up on—you know Ziva says he still has connections in Mossad. Well, I didn't find anything at first…just the money trail and the encrypted phone calls from Bodnar's man to the Assassin."

"But," Ziva and Tony said simultaneously.

"You're not going to like this, Ziva. Please don't go all ninja-killer-assassin-former Mossad on me. But, there was one number that showed up in three…other…places. Just one phone call each made to a Schmeil Pinkus, the assassin, and a burn phone that was active at the crime scene…"

"Schmeil is not responsible for my father's death," Ziva scowled. "Perhaps, he received a threat and came here to follow up on it…"

"Uh. Maybe. But, the phone calls were not all I found. I did a sweep of all outgoing emails sent from your father's personal laptop, the one you brought back from Israel, and again, at first I didn't find anything out of the ordinary—if you'd call his Mossad connections ordinary. But, then I discovered he'd logged in four times under a VPN address that's since been deactivated. Well, it turns out he was corresponding with someone here in the states using this encrypted email server that pinged his emails as coming out of China. Your father was pretty good at covering his tracks. I mean, obviously, he was trained to…But, I mean, he really didn't want anyone to find these emails and it wasn't easy, even for me."

"Your point," Ziva said, irritated.

"Well, I managed to decrypt some of the emails…which wasn't easy considering they were written in Dari but they suggested that your father knew Bodnar was after his job. Someone here in the states—CIA, FBI—I don't know, I haven't been able to crack that yet, tipped him off. The contact asked him to "continue as planned."

"I knew it!" Ziva barked, "He was lying all along. He knew he was a target. He brought death to Jackie Vance's door."

"Well, what's worrisome is that I'm not sure he did that alone," McGee continued, fingers straying to loosen his shirt collar, sweat forming on his brow. "Funny thing is Schmeil, the burn phone from the crime scene, and one other person all received the same text message on the day of the murders."

He turned his computer screen so that Ziva, Tony, and Gibbs could read the message… "Zeus approves. Payton is up and running. Parca and co. are on standby. Aslan."

Without emotion, with the voice of cold business, Ziva interrupted, "They are code names. Zeus, God of the Sea, is the Secretary of the Navy. Payton, in Hebrew means 'redemption'. This is what my father claimed he wanted in coming here. Parca is Spanish for the "Grim Reaper"… And, Aslan is a variant of Lion, or Leon."

Tony's eyebrow's shot up, "Sounds horribly like an episode of the Twilight Zone…just when you think you can trust him the guy next to you turns out to be your murderer."

Ziva said nothing more. No retort, no proclamation of anger or betrayal. To Tony's surprise, she merely turned on her heel and returned to her desk.

"Ziver," Tony began following her.

She held up a finger, silencing him, and flipped open her cell phone to dial the third number from McGee's list. The person on the other end did not pick up, but she did not need them to…nor was she sure she wanted them to. As she expected, they had not set up a voicemail so their phone continued to ring and ring—giving her time to triangulate the location to the nearest cell phone tower. Grayson, Virginia. Her heart pounded in her chest. She had heard mention of this town years ago…at the Vance's Labor Day barbeque. Jackie Vance had mentioned she never wanted to return there.

Without a word to her teammates, she picked up her gear, took an extra magazine of ammo from her desk drawer, and sprinted for the elevators.

"Ziva!" Gibbs yelled after her, causing her to pause. He walked up to her, concern etched in his rugged features. "Ziva, you can't do this alone."

"No? Then, tell me Gibbs, _who_ am I to ask for permission? _Who_ am I to trust?" She lowered her voice, "My Director has used me as an ends to a means. Schmeil has…played me for a fool. My fa…Eli David stabbed me in the heart. And, Ducky…he has…"

She did not finish; she reached for her belt and unclipped her badge—shoving it into Jethro's un-expectant hand. "I quit."

Jethro knew better than to stop her. He couldn't argue with himself—and she was, for all intensive purposes, behaving exactly as he would. But, he wasn't going to turn his back like he did in Israel all those years ago.

"You can trust us, Ziva. We know as much as you," Tony said, jogging up, gear in hand.

Ziva shook her head slowly and drew her gun—leveling it at both of them. As the elevator doors opened, she backed in, "I do, Tony," she said quietly, "But this is not your fight."


	10. Chapter 10

**Five minutes later, Office of the Director of NCIS**

Gibbs stormed past Leon Vance's bewildered secretary and into his empty office where he immediately initiated a 'lock down'. He picked up the desk phone and dialed Vance's home number.

Three rings and then, "Vance."

"Tell me what the HELL is going on, Leon," Gibbs growled—not a request; a demand.

Leon hesitated; changing course away from thoughts about his children to what Gibbs might be after. A rock formed in his stomach.

XXXXXXX

**Ten minutes later: Safe House, Grayson, VA**

Next to him on the bedside stand, Malachi's burn phone chirped indicating a missed call from an unknown number. He picked it up, annoyed that he had slept through the call; but certain it was just another telemarketer calling random numbers in hopes of making a sale. He retrieved the caller's number and sat up. The number was familiar. His heart rate increased noticeably…_Ziva_.

Down the hall, in the living room, Eli was bent over the 60's song book he'd picked up in the small music store in downtown Grayson, making notations in the margins. His phone's vibrations against his hip caused his hand to jump—leaving a line of blue ink across the page. He glanced at the caller I.D. and put the phone to his ear, "Aslan?"

"Your daughter knows. She's coming to you," came the somber, yet urgent voice on the other end. "ETA two and a half hours with her driving. We're on our way too. "

Eli stood up, the book and pen falling from his lap to the floor—forgotten.

XXXXXXXXXXX

**Fifteen Minutes later: Near Dulles Airport, Washington DC**

A smile snaked its way across his darkened features. _How predictable these Americans_, he thought. _They have handed me my prize on a silver platter. More accurately, Ziva David has done so…her first mistake, being allowing me to access her partner's laptop and her second, just like her father, she is too trusting…too confident in the faithfulness of those with whom she surrounds herself. Becoming an American has weakened her._

A quick jerk of the head to his associates and five minutes of placing a triangulation tracker on the ping from ZIva's active cell phone and Ilan Bodnar was on his way towards restitution.


	11. Chapter 11

**Two and a half hours later: Safe House, Grayson, VA**

Ziva pulled into the gravel driveway with such speed that a cloud of dust rose up around her vehicle—effectively creating a smoke cover for her approach to the house. She registered clearly that whomever was inside had either a) not laid claymores or b) not wanted her dead on arrival. She wasn't sure it mattered. She wasn't sure what she expected to find on the other side of the door. But, she was certain Leon Vance did not want her to lay hands on what or whoever it may be without his consent.

_Fury is written in her features_, Eli thought as he inhaled deeply, watching his daughter approach the house from the security camera feed on his laptop. _She is not here to find what has been taken from her. She is here to find answers, to serve justice_.

As Ziva moved up the last two steps to the front door, Eli exhaled and whispered, "Go."

Jackie Vance steeled herself and opened the door coming face to face with the barrel of Ziva's gun. Her hands went up, palms open as Malachi had instructed. She forced her shoulders to relax—feigning relief.

Ziva's face registered disbelief. Yet, she did not lower her weapon. Instead, she leveled it at Jackie's chest. Coldly, devoid of feeling, she demanded, "Where is your handler?"

"Ziva," Jackie started, "There is no 'handler' here. If it's answers you want, you need to talk to Leon."

Ziva turned her shoulder into Jackie and shoved past her, gun still raised, "You are not here alone. Vance would not take such a risk. He will not give me the answers I am looking for, so I have come to…extract them myself."

"And, you shall, Ziva," Eli uttered as he stepped into her path. "But, first, lower your weapon. You have no enemies here."

"I…" her well trained features contorted—a battle of emotions playing out under her skin. "What is this?! Who are you?"

She did not allow him to answer. Instead, pointing her gun at his head, she yelled, "…Bodnar! Do not be a coward! Show yourself!"

"Bodnar is not here, Ziva," Malachi Ben Gideon's voice came from behind Eli. "We are operating under Leon Vance's orders. This was an exfiltration operation."

A strange and intoxicating tingle emanated from Ziva's head down to her fingers. She jerked her head angrily at Eli, recalling a case in which a rogue agent stole a synthetic mask from the CIA. "Prove it. How do I know you are my father and not some sort of plant?"

"A plant?" Eli asked confused.

"A fake, an imposter!" Ziva replied, irritated.

"You do not know," Eli acknowledged with a sigh.

"Convince me," Ziva snapped, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Her mind was a mess. What to think? What to do? She did not want to think that she had grieved over the shadow of a man who did not deserve her love. Only a coward would use death as a cover.

Eli frowned, recognizing his daughter's anger. "The Star of David you wear around your neck," he began slowly, carefully, "Your friend, Aadil, gave it to you for your Bat Mitzvah..."

Ziva's brown eyes widened minutely—a flicker of surprise; a cherished memory triggered. But, she kept her gun pointed squarely at his head.

Eli paused, thought, _she has every right to shoot me_, and then smiled lovingly at his daughter, "The boy was enterprising. I would not allow him to come to your party—for which you sister said you hated me and you accused me of being shortsighted and discriminatory. But, this did not stop him. He came to our house that weekend—said you had told him you would be out and your father would, believe it or not, be home. He professed the meaning of his friendship with you…said he was your mirror image—the only difference between you being the names of your faiths. He said it was because of people like you he was not ashamed to be a Muslim living in a Jewish nation. _I_ had planned to give you the necklace _myself_; it had survived the Holocaust around your grandmother's neck. But, I was…impressed…with Aadil so, I gave _him_ the task. And, instead, I gave you a knife."

Ziva met Eli's gaze and, as she blinked away the welling of unwanted tears, she swore she saw him do the same.

**_A/N: Thanks for the great question/observation Zivatjl12-about the Star of David necklace. Answer is: I don't really know what happened to it after Somalia? I know Saleem yanks it off Ziva's neck in Aliyah (?), but then in later episodes she is shown with a similar/same necklace. Does anyone know? Did she get it back or is it new? :) Thanks!_**


	12. Chapter 12

**Three hours later: Safe House, Grayson, VA**

"Touching," Ilan Bodnar said with a cruel smirk as he, followed by two heavily armed henchmen dragging a beaten and unconscious Liat, entered from the hall. "But, it is a tad late for reconciliation_."_

Without care, as if swatting away a fly, he waved his hand at the man to his left who threw Liat to the ground like discarded trash while training an M16 at Malachi. The second aimed at Eli.

"I should thank you, Ziva, for directing us to this…humble residence," he continued in a cold monotone as he leveled his own gun at Ziva. He chuckled at the visible process of confusion followed by comprehension playing out behind her eyes. "You forget who you are you dealing with, David...s."

"A fool," Eli seethed, the vessels in his neck pulsing.

Bodnar chuckled. "You are hardly in a position to make accusations, Eliahu. Your own daughter is about to do me a favor and clear the path for _my_ redemption."

"Redemption?" Eli hissed. "Ilan, your confidence blinds you to reality."

"The only path that lies before you, Ilan," Ziva interceded, "is the one to your grave. If not by one of us, by NCIS, by Mossad…one our governments will see to it!"

"Ah, Ziva," Ilan countered smugly, "Do not be so quick to judge. It is something your father would do—along with placing his trust where he should not. That is why you were left to rot in Saleem's cellar. Dear Abba _trusted_ I would tell him if we acquired intelligence suggesting you were still alive; _agreed_ it would be a waste of assets to go after you if the evidence implied otherwise. So, I told him you were dead."

"Ben Kelev!" (Son of a dog) Eli spat, brown eyes flashing with indignation.

Ziva did not look at her father, though she could feel his eyes turn toward her. Instead she turned her gun on Bodnar, eyes narrowed, "You have bought yourself the same fate, Ilan. No one will mourn when you are dead."

Bodnar smiled, "Such displaced vehemence, Ziva. I am hardly the villain here. There is not a person in this room who has not wronged you. Yet, I am the only, who instead of begging for forgiveness, is attempting to right a wrong. What I am doing is for my country. Israel will reign; its enemies will fall."

"You no longer have a country, Ilan," Eli sneered, squaring his shoulders and taking a step towards Bodnar. A small smile forming on his lips when, as he expected, Ilan reciprocated.

A splintering of glass followed by a deafening explosion registered vaguely in Ilan Bodnar's mind before fire seared through his chest—stopping his heart.

XXXXXXXXXXX

**Simultaneously: Abby's Lab, NCIS**

"C'mon, c'mon! Answer the phone Gibbs," Abby pined from her seat next to Ducky in the lab. "Tell me that everyone is ok and you're bringing them home!"

"Abigail," Ducky sighed warily, "He may not call for some time. …there are, clearly, more issues to resolve than simply picking them up and bringing them home."

Abby Sciuto glanced sideways at Ducky, realizing his face was taught with sadness. Or, was it guilt? "Ducky, you saved Eli's life. You know that has to count for something. I mean, if Ziva knew. If she knew what you did for her father and why, I don't think she'd be angry with you. Well…ok…maybe a little. But, what I mean is, I think she could forgive you."

"Let us hope that she has a chance to do so…" Ducky exhaled.

XXXXXXXXXX

**Minutes Later: Safe House**

Eli coughed, disoriented and uncertain how it was he was still standing. He strained to see through the smoke and dust. He could focus on only one thing. _Ziva. _He took a wobbly step sideways and used his left hand to steady himself against the wall. He opened his mouth emitting a hoarse whisper, "Ziva!"

"She's fine—few scrapes and bruises," Agent Gibbs said as he appeared before him looking relieved.

Eli coughed again and swallowed a metallic taste on his tongue. He nodded approvingly, "You are a good shot, Agent Gibbs."

"A lucky shot," Gibbs said. He couldn't figure out how Eli David had seen him…let alone been able to move Bodnar into his line of fire.

As if reading his mind, Eli slumped against the wall and gestured toward the broken window. "I didn't actually see you, Gibbs. In the window…I saw Ziva seeing you."

Gibbs shook his head and grinned, Eli David had earned some respect. Slowly, gently, he eased the older man onto the ground applying firm pressure to the bloody hole in the right side of his chest.

Faces blended into walls and colors began to swirl into an ugly brown as Eli felt himself drifting into semi-consciousness. He registered someone call for a medic, heard someone say Liat and Malachi were alive, felt a vague sense of déjà vu as a non-rebreather mask was placed over his face while he gasped for air like a drowning man, and, then, darkness fell and he felt at peace.


	13. Chapter 13

**Late the Next Day: Bethesda Hospital, ICU**

From the doorway, Eli David looked so…small. He looked so...vulnerable. The endotracheal tube protruding from his mouth seemed to magnify the crevices in his aging face, the arterial lines in his arm and wrist to be ropes tethering him to the bed, and the chest tube draining from his right side to be a garden hose inserted between the ribs.

A small, shuttering sigh escaped Ziva as her eyes returned to his face. She studied the deep scar under his chin that Schmeil said was earned when a young Eli refused to let his older brother take on a bully alone. She noted the faint smile lines obscured by tape. And, almost involuntarily, she found herself seeing the same face years younger—full of laughter as she and her brother nearly buried it in the sands of Beit Yannai beach. Then, just as quickly, she saw it glowering and stern—ordering her to keep her brother under control or terminate his duties.

She looked away when she heard the nurse say, "Easy now, we're getting ready to take that out—had to wait for you to show us you're awake enough to breathe on your own."

Ziva felt Eli's eyes on her and wondered how long he had been watching her. It took restraint to resist the urge to shake him and demand answers to the questions swirling in her head.

"Ms. David," the nurse said, turning to her, "Your dad's been doing well with sprints on the ventilator so we're going to move ahead with plans to extubate. Unfortunately, you're going to have to leave when we do. Hospital policy."

"I will leave now so you can get it underway," Ziva replied. "My father does not…tolerate…delaying of his plans well."

The nurse smiled understandingly—aware that there were multiple layers to Ziva's response. "You do what you need to do, Honey."

Lost in the tumultuous depths of her memories, Ziva wandered out into the family waiting room and into the open arms of Jackie Vance. She had been surprised to see her earlier in the evening, after all the woman had been through with interrogations about the C-4 she'd ignited and her less than perfect reunion with her husband and children; but Ziva found her presence comforting in the absence of Gibbs and Tony who'd needed to return to work. Somehow, she knew Jackie had the answers to at least a few of her questions.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hours later: Bethesda Hospital, ICU**

She looks so peaceful—content with herself, Eli thought as his tired eyes focused on the still form of Ziva sitting quietly in the corner of his room. She was dressed in her work clothes—NCIS badge still clipped to her waist. He smiled as he watched her tapping away on her smart phone with an enamored expression on her face. He did not want to steal this moment away from her so he tried, in vain, to swallow the cough in his throat.

He succeeded only in falling into a fit of painful, racking, wet coughs that produced foul tasting sputum. His nurse came to the bedside, obscuring Ziva's worried face from his view.

"Don't hold it in, Hon. You need to get all that out of your lungs if you want to keep that tube out," the woman gently chastised as she gave him a suction tube, "Here, suck some of that phlegm out with this."

The nurse nodded at Ziva as she stepped out of the room on the pretense of checking on her neighboring patient.

"Ziva," Eli croaked, "You did not have to come. You must be tired. It is late. Go home. Rest."

"_'Rest'_," Ziva replied testily. "Are you really so blind? _You _told me once I could be loyal to no one but you. Now, _I _do not know who _you _are loyal to…I do not know you…I do not know who to trust anymore. I cannot sleep."

He frowned; he was losing her _again_—not a word a father should have to use more than once…or at all. What he said next would determine his fate. …If only he knew what to say.

"Ziva…I will not ask for something I do not deserve. I learned long ago that if one has to beg for something from one they…love…they are not meant to have it. I learned this with your Ima," he paused choking as his throat momentarily constricted with grief, "…with Ari."

Ziva stood up, clearly struggling to control her emotions. He felt himself panic. It was an emotion he had not felt since the time he feared her lost during a game of hide and seek in the woods when she was six. She had fallen asleep hidden beneath the leaves of a large tree after giving up on her brother's ability to find her. He met Ziva's dark, questioning eyes, and fell into another fit of coughing.

The nurse poked her head in through the sliding door between his room and the next, "Eli, I thought I told you to keep it kosher. We had an agreement. You want visitors, you keep your sats above 95 and your heart rate below 100."

She shot a warning glance at Ziva. Whatever farshlepteh krenk (unresolved issues) these two had wasn't her business, but if it interfered with her work she wasn't afraid to lay down the law. When the two appeared to resign to a silent standoff, she closed the door.

"Zivaleh, I...," Eli managed to rasp.

"Stop," Ziva interrupted, her expression softer, less fiery. "Stop…Abba. Jackie. She…explained to me that I should have…patience. …That we have both kept our hearts hidden for so long. That if I am to heal…if _we _are to heal we must start slowly."

Eli closed his eyes and looked upward—giving silent thanks to a God he was sure had forsaken him.

When he opened them, Ziva had come to the stand next to his bed. She looked hesitant as if she was uncertain about the path she was taking.

"Abba, this will take…time. There are things that I said to you when I thought you were dead…that I could not say…that I am not ready to say to you now. But, there is one thing that I wished I had told you…that…despite your sins…you are my father…and…I…love you."

Ziva's face was turned downward—unwilling, unable, to say these three last words to his face. Was he so horrible a father that she felt nothing but obligation? Eli coughed as he swallowed the taste of vomit in his throat and Ziva looked up, concerned. The pain he felt was immeasurable…no amount of morphine, time,…healing…, could take it away. But, he had no more reason to hide his heart from her. No. She deserved to see him in all of his frailty—a shattered old man.

Tired, defeated, thinking nothing of himself, he reached out a shaky hand to stroke her cheek and spoke the simple truth, "I love you too. Oh, my Zivaleh, I have always loved you more than I have words to express."

Ziva surprised him. Oh, the kindness of a child; always willing to look for the good in a parent even when there is none. Even when their sins are so great there is nothing to forgive.

Ziva sank onto the bed, her hand on his against her cheek, and leaned down so that her head came to rest against his chest. With two words she pierced his fragile heart like the sharp end of a spear, "I know."

Not a sound escaped him…only tears.

_**A/N: Thank you for the wonderful and encouraging comments, Zivatjl12! I am glad you enjoyed reading! Made my day! :) (P.S.: I have no idea how to respond to comments...so, I guess here is good?) **_


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